RUSSIAN PICKET POST.

pleasant reach under perpendicular bluffs on the Russian shore, past frequent irrigating machines ingeniously constructed to lift the water upon the high plateau, we came out into a perfectly flat country, partly wooded on either side. The strong northeast wind, which had been blowing almost continuously for days, gave us no rest, and raised a choppy sea which seriously checked our speed. About ten miles below Ismail the river divides into three parts, which join into one stream at Kilia, fifteen miles further on. We planned to camp somewhere above the latter town, and chose the central passage as probably the most direct one. For the rest of the afternoon we worked steadily, expecting

at a fishing-camp, where several rude huts were scattered about among the reeds and willows, their mud floors scarcely a foot above the level of the water. It began to rain, and heavy storm clouds, driven by the rising gale, swept over the whole sky. The sun went down, and we had left the region of willows, and now saw nothing but reeds on all sides of us. Soon the gathering twilight drove us to seek a camp, although the domes of Kilia were not yet in sight. The only place we could find, after a long search, was a small clearing among the reeds on the left bank, where some fisherman had dried the stalks for floats to his nets. Here we hauled up the canoes, settled them firmly in the soft mud of the marsh at an acute angle with each other, bow to bow, and spreading a thick layer of freshly cut reeds over the triangular space between the canoes and the edge of the bank, put up our tents and built a fire. The latter operation was not so easy as it sounds, for all the wood we could find was the water-soaked branches of willow which we broke from

the flame, so they soon dried, then caught fire, and by their heat dried others, until we shortly had enough strength of flame to kindle the large pieces of sodden wood. Sheltered from the rain by our sketching umbrellas in the lee of the canoe tents, we cooked an elaborate dinner of several courses, and enjoyed as comfortable a meal as if our camp had been made on the sound turf of an English meadow. As for our snug beds, they were quite as dry and warm as at any other bivouac, notwithstanding the fact that the canoes had settled deep into a slough of black mire.

A prolonged struggle with the mud the next morning did not increase our courage to face the strong head- wind, but we got away at last, fairly free from the stains which defiled clothes, sails, and varnish, and after a short paddle came out into the main stream, which here runs toward the southeast for a short distance, and were soon scudding past the town of Kilia under full sail. The town stretches far inland, among groves of trees, and we could see the green - topped domes of several churches and the roofs of large houses.

After our first introduction to real mud, just below Belgrade, we had always looked forward to an ideal bivouac on a clean sandy beach on the shores of the Black Sea, where we should find drift-wood in

KILIA.

abundance, firm smooth ground under our feet, and pure sweet air to breathe. As we passed Kilia, and saw before us a great flat, unbroken, reed-covered marsh, we felt a certain elation in the belief that within a few hours we should probably reach this ideal camp, and bid goodby to Danube mud and its accompanying annoyances. We stole along in the shelter of a fringe of large willows on the Russian bank for about five miles. Through the trees we could see great vineyards and cultivated fields and occasional farm-houses. Peasants were at work repairing the low dikes that protect the farms from the overflow of the river, or weaving fresh rods in the wattled fences. We occasionally checked our speed to watch these operations, and if we had attempted to land, would probably have been met with a prompt challenge, for all along, at regular intervals, the white uniforms of the sentinels could be distinguished among the undergrowth, and the glint of the bayonets often flashed in the foliage. At the end of this reach the river broadens out to a width of a mile or more, but only for a short distance, and then divides around a perfect maze of islands. About noon we came out into a stream at right angles with the one we had followed, and seeing the familiar figure of a Russian soldier among the willows, knew we were on the right road. A few minutes

A

trees near the river. There was no landing-place, and not even a boat lying on the shore, so we pushed on against the wind, now blowing a gale, and shortly came to the mouth of a narrow inlet, forming the tiny harbor of the place. Along both sides of this passage we saw jumbled together in confusion many rambling wooden structures, quite like those at any remote fishing village in New England, and a fleet of boats, large and small, moored to rotting, neglected landing - stages. We grounded once or twice on a mud bank on our way into the harbor, but presently were in sheltered waters, and following the directions of some fishermen, came alongside the steps in front

"We must land; we can't go on until the wind drops."

"You certainly can't stay here, for there is no hotel, and you won't be able to get anything to eat."

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The sight of two large documents, quite unlike anything called passports he had ever before seen, only added to his distress, and he looked at them with much the expression of a man who sees the war

At this juncture two young men came up, introduced themselves to us as fish-merchants of the place, and interceded in our behalf, and succeeded in calming the old man's excitement, so that he looked at the visés on our passports and told us to come ashore.

After further discussion he consented to register and stamp our papers, but refused to give them back to us, saying we could have them again when we went away. All the arguments we could invent were eloquently used in the hope of persuading him to let us land our

sketching materials, and our two young allies, who had been educated in Odessa, and understood our position, joined their voices to ours, but all in vain. Not an article must be removed from the canoes, not even a sketch-book, and, furthermore, we must promise not to sketch anything before we would be allowed to go into the village. Seeing the place even with this restriction was better than dangling our heels from the edge of the quay all the afternoon, and we accepted the invitation of one of the fish-merchants to drink tea with him, and strolled off into the village.

The houses are low and solidly built, and most of them have one peculiar feature a row of columns in front sup

porting a projection of the roof. They stand closely together along straight thoroughfares, which are little better than canals of mud, being only a few inches above the level of the river. The foundations of the houses are raised a foot or two above these sloughs, and roughly hewn plank sidewalks supported by piles extend everywhere in front of the buildings, even into the narrow side alleys, where fishermen's huts are huddled together in the marsh among reeds and willows. Two great white churches, enclosed by neat palings, occupy the middle of wide, neglected squares, and look bleak and bare and uninviting. The house we visited was of one story, but long and deep, and comfortably,

even luxuriously, furnished, and the drawing

room,

where we took un

limited tea and sweets, after the Russian custom, might have been in Vienna or Bucharest, with its parquet floor and ornate furniture.

The young merchants, who frankly told us they were Hebrews, although their types of face did not betray this fact, gave us detailed information about the village, the life there, the character of the people, and the extent of the fish business. From them we learned that Vilkoff counts about 4000 inhabitants, of whom at least 1500 follow the hazardous occupation of fishing for sturgeon in the Black Sea. Five merchants, all of them Jews, divide the trade in fish and caviare between them, and practically own the place, and also the